


Green and Grey

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: Sansa imagines she’s trapped in Casterly Rock forever, until a Tourney changes everything.written for the jon x sansa remix





	Green and Grey

Beside her Joffrey whooped as a knight was knocked from his horse. The tourney was yet another costly celebration for his name day; a table was arranged in the pavilion behind them, figs, whole quail, apples dusted in spices, shellfish caught fresh from the Sunset Sea that morning. That was not to be compared with the feast set for the evening, Sansa felt a knot of guilt for the small folk living just outside of the castle walls. Starving and poor while she sat in a fresh gown, dripping in emeralds. 

Her brother saw the injustice of it and fought for what was right. Joffrey had Robb’s head delivered to her one evening, and laughed when she paled at the sight of it. It wasn’t until later that she wept. She thought Robb would come to save her, she prayed for it, she had no one to hope for anymore. Bran was the Stark in Winterfell, and Rickon was still just a baby; her sister ran away with Robert Baratheon’s bastard son, and Sansa refused to tag along. And Jon… well if Robb was dead Jon would have died protecting him. 

New knights trotted to their starting points, adjusting their lances under their arms and charging. A messenger approached the true lord of the house, Sansa thought him a bit ridiculous to look at, and could not let her eyes linger for too long, but she overheard what was being said. They were talking about the hood. It was what they called Robb and the band he traveled with, they wore hoods and took from those who refused to share their wealth with their people. 

“Robb Stark is dead,” she heard the old lion say, “those ideals died with him.”

“Reports haven’t stopped since his death my lord.” 

“Then see that they do.” 

Sansa returned her attentions to the games once more, the third pass and the large knight fell from his horse. Joffrey delighted in such moments, the knight could be trampled and crushed, or die in some other gruesome way that would make a horrific tale some day. He looked to make sure she saw, he wanted her to have nightmares, he relished in her screams. 

Knights rotated in to tilt, lances cracked, they fell, the cycle continued. Knights in red, knights in green, knights in armor so polished they were near blinding to watch. She didn’t care to watch, but knew to look away would only make things worse, and then she saw something so achingly familiar. 

Robb and Jon would take turns playing at being the great hero, Robb boasting a great grey direwolf on his chest, and Jon with no house to claim for his own. She hadn’t understood why, and insisted upon making him a sigil of his own. She called him Jon the Dragon heart that day, presenting him with a carefully stitched white winged dragon on a red surcoat. Arya argued with her as she made it, insisting it should be a wolf. Sansa insisted though, Jon’s father was of the fallen House Targaryen; besides, though she didn’t say it aloud, if she were to marry Jon people ought to notice the difference between her maiden cloak, and her marriage cloak. 

She never thought to see that sigil outside of the walls of Winterfell, especially not at Casterly Rock. Yet there it was painted boldly across the knight’s arm. She couldn’t seem overly interested, lest Joffrey call him forward, but she watched as he took down his first opponent, then another. Until the festivities were drawing to a close and he faced off against one of the Lannister’s own men. 

Her knuckles went white as she watched. They passed once, twice, and she squeezed her eyes shut when she heard the lances crack, Joffrey’s reaction was telling enough. He pouted and fussed beside her, “should have known Trant would let me down,” he likely placed an ill advised bet for one of his own men. Sansa stopped listening when she realized the knight was riding toward their seats, holding a crown made of red and gold roses. 

She couldn’t see his face, but he moved intently toward her. She stood, gripping the wooden rail for balance as she leaned forward to accept. Joffrey glowered to her left but his grandfather had the sense to continue the custom. 

“Who do you fight for ser?” Lord Tywin asked. Sansa stared at the knight, still in a daze, so hopeful to see the face beneath, a familiar one. She dreaded it too, gods she could not keep the nerves at bay. Jon was as much an outlaw as Robb, they would have his head come dawn if he revealed himself, he wouldn’t be so foolish were he still alive. 

Still she watched with horror as his gloved hands reached to remove his helmd. His hair had grown out, face had lost the roundness only youth offered, but it was his eyes haunted as they were that were most familiar, and fixed on her face as he answered, “I serve the people my lord. Those who live outside of these walls.” Jon turned to meet the old lion’s eye, “I’d keep an eye on what’s most valuable my lord; it would be a shame to lose something as precious as gold.” 

“Sieze him!” Lord Tywin leapt from his seat, realizing just who he was looking upon. Jon didn’t seem concerned at all, in fact he seemed pleased as he was hauled from his mount and dragged to the keep. 

What on earth?

She stole away to the dungeons during the feast, certain she wouldn’t be missed. Even as the future Lady of the Rock in their eyes she was often ignored, sometimes it was as though they looked right through her. Joffrey was the only one who may notice her absence, but so deep into his cups, and distracted by the worldly women his uncle welcomed into the keep. The guards would tell her betrothed, but he would already blame her for Jon’s presence, for interrupting his fun, she would be punished regardless.   
—-  
Jon stood when he saw her, brushing the hay from his breeches. They took away his armor, and left him in a linen tunic. The guard held his post near the entrance, where he would remain if he wanted the rest of the gold Sansa had promised him in exchange for a moment to speak to Jon. She couldn’t buy his silence, but the privacy was something she could afford. 

His hands wrapped around the iron bars between them, she could have wept for the way her name sounded on his tongue. He reacted instantly to the touch of her hand on his own, twisting his fingers with hers and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I was worried,”

“You should be, Jon they’re readying the gallows for you as we speak.”

“Not about that,” he said into their hands. “That you wouldn’t come.” His eyes were just as earnest as they were all those years ago.

“Of course I came, but Jon you must know this is madness.” She pressed against the door, on her toes to peer through the bars. “You cannot steal gold from the Lannister's.”

What happened next came as a great surprise to her, for he did not argue with her, but let out a low chuckle. She snatched her hand away, incensed, and worked very hard to keep her voice quiet as she scolded him. “I understand you may think this is what Robb wanted, but I don’t imagine he wanted you to be killed for an impossible feat.”

“We’ve already stolen their gold Sansa.” He looked at her like he was willing her to understand. “Days ago.”

“Then why have you returned? Why risk everything if you weren’t caught before?”

“I’m here to rescue you.” She didn't mean to scoff aloud, the thought was absurd though. A locked door, a guard, and the full expanse of the keep would soon lay between them, and he meant to rescue her? “Trust me Sansa,” he said softly, “go to your rooms.”

Her heart started to race, he had come to take her away. “You’ll be caught,” she said softly. “I’m not worth the risk.”

“You’re worth everything,” he said firmly, and for a moment she believed him. “I’ll see you soon,” he made to reach for her hand, but she was too slow to offer it. “You should go, collect your things, I’ll see you before dawn.”

Wary as she was of his suggestion she gave the guard the remainder of the gold she had promised and made for her chambers. She couldn’t fathom how Jon meant to rescue her, and packed halfheartedly, if he didn’t come for her it would hurt less to put fewer things back into her wardrobe come morning.

She worried most of the night, tossing and turning, until the sound of footfalls and hushed voices stirred her. Her first instinct was to scream, and it must have shown too because one of the men approached her with wide earnest eyes and arms extended. “It’s all right, Jon sent us.” 

She watched them move warily. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?” A Lannister trick to test her loyalty. 

The tallest one frowned looking out to the grounds, “we don’t have much time.” He looked back at her, “he said this would remind you of playing-acting. Always going on about how you loved that sort of thing.” 

“He is?” She wondered in spite of herself. The others in the room chuckled, embarrassed she clutched the furs tighter. Still, she was surprised Jon thought of her much at all, so much time had passed.

“He’s hardly talked about anything else since we set off. I thought your sister was going to knock him from his horse the day we set off.”

“Arya?” Her eyes widened, “You found her?”

“She found us,” another laughed. “Not long after she fled I expect.” Sansa nodded, that would be like Arya to stumble upon them before any word of her leaving Casterly Rock found them.

“Are you ready to come with us?” A different man, the prettiest of the lot, asked. At her nod they moved quickly, shyly she had to dress and _trust_ these strange men not to look upon her as she did. The plainest of her gowns remained and still it would have been easier to dress with the help of at least one maid. The pretty man approached slowly, offering to help, and worked efficiently. 

She wouldn’t believe they coaxed her down the side of the castle wall, but somehow the earth was beneath her feet and they all but dragged her to the gates where horses waited, where Jon waited. Once they were away she would ask how he escaped, but held her tongue and watched as they quietly rushed about. 

“Can you ride?” Jon asked, _can you keep up?_ was his true question. She shook her head, even if she could ride fast she wasn’t sure her body would realize what was happening. He nodded, and looked to the pretty one, “you’ll go with Satin then.”

“I’m not as quick as you on a horse,” Satin protested. Jon heaved a sigh at that, and spared her no glance. Her stomach twisted, and she looked back at the keep. Dawn had started to break over the Sunset Sea, the castle would be waking soon. If they were found all of these men would be killed, she clasped her hands in front of her middle. What if Jon decided she wasn’t worth the trouble after all?

“I can try.” Sansa said quickly, hoping not to upset him too much. “I can try to keep up.”

“It’s fine,” Jon insisted brusquely moving to his mount. He climbed on with ease, a movement his men took as a sign to sit their horses as well. Jon’s hand reached for her, and pulled her to accompany him. “Hold on,” he said squeezing her hands where they wrapped around him. She relished the contact, but it was gone as quick as it came.

Jon led the group, setting a fast, hard pace, one that threatened to throw her from the mount. She would have never been able to keep up on her own. A shout came from the back as they rode, Jon called back in response. Sansa held tighter.

Behind them the sound of horses grew louder, but Jon pressed on. She pressed her face into his back, could feel his pulse against her cheek. She wondered if he was as scared as she was, or if his heart was racing at the thrill of battle. She thought they rode for what felt like hours before they finally arrived in a clearing.   
—-  
Jon slid from the horse, and extended his arms to help Sansa down. Her legs shook when her feet touched the earth, unsteady and unbelieving. Jon tensed when she crumbled into his arms, weeping, his hand smoothed at her hair. She could feel his lips moving against the crown of her head, whispering unintelligible things, consoling words she imagined. “You’re safe,” he said when her tears slowed. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

She raised her eyes and found him looking at her, steady in his gaze. “Jon the Dragon heart,” she murmured kissing his cheek. “You’ve always been so good at being my hero.”

“Sansa?” In a moment the air was knocked out of her, and the tears began once more. “I knew he would bring you back.” Her sister held her tight, squeezing the air from her lungs. Sansa clung to her, feeling like she was in a dream. It was the clip-clop of horses’ hooves that broke that dream.

Jon moved subtly, placing himself between Sansa and Arya, and the sound. His hand, gripping the hilt of his sword relaxed; the men who held back had caught up to their camp. “We threw them off the trail,” the tallest said.

“Are you sure?” Jon said, turning back to Sansa. “Grenn, I need to know she’s safe.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “He’s been like that since I told him you were still there.” She gave Sansa a pointed look, “I would swear he had Satin clean him up before that little rescue mission. He wanted to look like the hero you always thought he was.”

Sansa blushed, “He was very gallant, but so much has changed since we were children. I fear I’ll only disappoint him now.” She disappointed Joffrey, and she only ever tried to be perfect for him. Jon, what reason did he have to think of her as he once did? She didn’t protest at all when the betrothal happened, cousin or not Jon’s status in life wasn’t appropriate for a true born daughter of House Stark. 

He didn’t try to duel for her hand, not soon after he told her their Uncle Benjen was taking him north, he meant to take the black. She understood his meaning, there was nothing between them besides what was in her head. Still on the day they parted ways, she mustered up her courage and told him in the truest words she could, _You’ll always be Ser Jon the Dragon Heart to me, no matter the colors you wear._ She thought he might have understood because he kissed her brow, and said he would never forget her.

The camp began to pick up all around them, strong looking women from the North tended to the horses, and sharpened their own spears. Arya introduced her to everyone, save for the man who followed her like a shadow. Sansa had to ask about him, “That’s just Gendry,” her sister replied in a way that told Sansa he wasn’t _just_ anything.

“Alys is marrying Sigorn on the morrow,” Arya gestured toward Alys Karstark, Sansa recognized her from their last feast at Winterfell. “She’s been trying to mend that gown for weeks,” even from afar Sansa could see the dress was well worn, and required a second set of hands. It was beside Alys that Sansa sat, stitching, and perfecting until they had to rely on the firelight.

By the time they made their way to the tent Jon had given to them, the largest, the one set aside for their leader, Sansa could see the moon was high in the sky. Stars twinkled through the trees, and a gentle hand to her back caught her attention. Jon’s hand was warm through her gown,

“I know this is less comfortable than what you’re used to,” he began apologetically.

“I don’t mind.” Sansa insisted too quickly. “Truly,” she slowed turning to him, “I am happier to be here with you and with Arya.” 

“You’ll be safe here as well.”

“I know,” Sansa agreed, “thank you for bringing me here Jon.” She rocked to her toes and kissed his cheek before ducking away into the tent. Alys’ breathing had already evened out, and Lyanna Mormont was snoring softly in the corner. Arya had gone out to hunt with Nymeria, and Sansa assumed Gendry accompanied her too. Safe as she knew she was, every time she closed her eyes she saw Lannisters coming for her. Sleep would not be found on this night.  
—-  
“Do you mean to tell her anytime soon?” Sansa shifted to her side, the glow of the fire casting shadows into her tent.

“Tell her what exactly?” Jon’s voice retorted. 

“You’re not fooling anyone in this camp,” Sam said sternly. “You’ve been half in love with her since you arrived at Castle Black. It’s only gotten worse.”

“Yes well, things have changed since then.” Sansa knew they were talking about her. “I didn’t have much to offer then besides honor, and now I can’t even give her that.”

“You have plenty to offer, and you’re the most honorable man I’ve ever known.” Sam insisted.

“Ned Stark was the most honorable man I knew. If he knew what Robb and I got up to since his death,” there was a moment’s pause, “there’s nothing honorable about what we do Sam.”

Sansa listened to them argue back and forth until she couldn’t distinguish between their words. She woke to Alys’ excitable giggles, her wedding day. She apologized halfheartedly and Sansa insisted all was well,

“You’re meant to be happiest on your wedding day.” Sansa said embracing her new friend. “I’m sure he’s a good man.”

“He is,” Alys sighed, “I was so afraid of him at first,” she confessed. “But he’s never been anything but gently and kind. I’ll always be safe with him.” Sansa smiled, gesturing for Alys to sit and started to fuss with her hair. “We’re in love, and decided we should marry before the rest of the world tries to keep us apart.”

“I think that’s lovely,” Sansa said. “They’re doing a good thing,” she said, running a brush through Alys’ dark hair. “Wealth go to people’s heads,” she thought of Joffrey, of Cersei, of Tywin, “it’s time someone makes them see they’re no better in their hearts because of their gold.”

“I think I’d like to toast to that tonight,” Alys agreed. Sam’s wife Gilly popped her head into the tent, it was time. Together Gilly and Sansa helped Alys into the gown, the embroidered sleeves bore the sigil she and her husband-to-be had decided upon. Her maiden cloak settled on her shoulders, and Sansa saw not a trace of fear for the ceremony that was about to occur in the girl’s eyes. 

Sansa followed Gilly to where guests lined formed an aisle. She stood beside Jon, and noted how solemnly he watched the ceremony, “do you remember when we used to play at this?” Sansa wondered.

“Aye,” he said turning to face her, “it doesn’t feel long ago does it?”

“No,” her hands twisted at her middle. Alys was smiling as she said something to Sigorn, and the light crept through the trees. Sansa couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting for a wedding in this moment. “Did you ever think that could be us?”

Jon’s attention had returned to the ceremony, and for a long moment she wondered if he heard her at all. “I did,” his gaze stayed fixed ahead. “Did you?”

“Yes,” and taking a deep breath she moved to twine her hand with his. “I’m glad you came back for me.”

“I always will.” He promised as the bride kissed her groom for the first time. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Quite a bold vow,” she teased. “For I might ask forever of you.” 

“Then forever you will have.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [ tumblr](http://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com)


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